Memories
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: Fifteen years after their deaths, a familiar girl goes to find out who the Elric brothers really were. Ongoing work.
1. Remembering the Elrics

Memories, Ch.1:  Remembering the Elrics

By Andrea Weiling

                _Memories_, she thought, _were much like chocolate._  If you let it sit there on your tongue, and then close your eyes, it would stop everything around you until there was only a sense of just floating in nothingness, and slowly you would be falling backwards in slow motion, sinking to rest on the comfortable couch of memory.  After all, memory was something that could not be changed, and therefore something that humans were completely at ease with.  With the memory of experience, there was something sweetly but sadly nostalgic that humans loved about themselves.  Though they did not understand the full implications of being alive, of being human, they did see how to live, what was good living and what they did not enjoy doing.  They knew that living, feeling was good – making good memories was good, but making bad ones would become memories too, and would be beneficial sometime in the future in some similar case that required the same judgment.

                She had a good memory, but that was not unexpected.  Young people were supposed to have good memory span, and she was only eighteen.  She had many first memories, all tumbling one over another, and none of them she remembered very clearly.  Perhaps, if she tried, she would remember when she was three, a short but serious child along with a suit of armor watched over her as she drew on paper with crayons, and remember she thought the armor one was weird, but cool because he was very helpful and polite to her.  The other one, if she could remember correctly from all the times they visited afterwards, was constantly reading – always thick tomes of 5,000 pages or more, full of diagrams of circles.  A more prominent memory would rise up in her mind at that thought, the time on her birthday when she snuck off to copy a circle-diagram off one of the thick books that the stranger brought, and made blue electricity come out of the paper.  She remembered how it exploded in her face, cutting into her cheeks and hands because she didn't know what it was, what it could do – pandemonium afterwards, with the blonde stranger asking her over and over, "Are you alright?" in a slightly accented voice from the countryside.  The armored one had patted her head afterwards and told her not to do it again with a soft and kindly voice of a child.

                There had been a watch chain hanging out of the blonde stranger's pocket, that she remembered.  There had been one hanging out of her commanding officer's pocket as well – but she didn't know that man, Roy Mustang the Daisotou, would become her superior until she passed the State Alchemist exam at age fifteen, only beaten by one other, some obscure "Edward Elric".  She had not been particularly surprised she had been beaten, but she _had_ been surprised that she had been beaten by a twelve year old. Her father had consoled her afterwards, saying that it was alright, that he knew the boy personally and he'd been a real genius, but he'd also grown up too fast, and he didn't want that for his daughter.  Now, there was a silver watch hanging out of her pocket as well, and as she traveled around the country, it would flash where the light would hit it, and people would look at her with both surprise and awe.  

                Something was strange about her father when he said that, putting his hand on her shoulder, green eyes darkening into memory behind glasses.  And somehow, she knew, even though he had explained it to her in present tense as if the boy was still alive, Edward Elric was really dead.

                She did not connect the name with the face until three years after.  It had happened over a dinner, where her mother had casually mentioned the time that the Daisotou had taken dinner with them, and almost lost his head from being so drunk.  "It hadn't even been alcohol," her mother said gravely.  "He'd only been drinking tea."  But after that, her father seemed to stiffen and relax all at once, a sign that he didn't like the way it was going, and her mother had quietly gone back to her soup.  She didn't know why back then, but suddenly there came a rush of young memories, hazy from long neglect, shaking out their cobwebbed limbs to greet her once again.  Suddenly she was five, peeking from behind the kitchen door, watching the dining table scene.  Her father had been there, her mother had been in the living room sewing, hands anxiously weaving in and out of the fabric.  And Roy Mustang the Daisotou had been there too.  Her father had said something, green eyes hard with challenge, and suddenly Mustang had thrown down the tea cup so hard it shattered against the table, and he had swept all the pictures off the living room mantelpiece, all the while clutching a silver State Alchemist watch in his hand.  She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric", and more words that seemed to choke themselves out of his throat, dismayed and regretful.  The pictures had burst against the door she was hiding behind, and she had screamed, but as her father patted her down frantically, checking for any cuts (the only one being a tiny one on her hand that healed soon afterwards), she spotted one of the pictures that had been too high on the mantelpiece for her to see: four people, Mustang and her father, and the very short blonde stranger, and the man in the suit of armor.  In that picture, clearly everyone was relaxed, if not happy.  The backdrop was the Eastern Headquarters, with a pretty blonde secretary (whom she now recognized as Hawkeye the Taisa) looking chagrined as the picture was snapped.  After that night, the picture disappeared into the masses of picture albums that mostly featured her and her mother.  She'd seen it once or twice, but never paid any more attention to it.

                And when she had time enough to finally think about it, the name Edward Elric and that of his younger brother, Alphonse Elric, were both thrown around quite frequently.  'To pull an Fullmetal' meant to do something for the benefit of the people even if it broke a few laws; 'Short as an Elric' meant that a person was abnormally short for their age.  Taking into account just the whispers in the halls in the frequent but short visits that she was there between missions, she gathered that the Elrics had been something of a pair of genius brothers, though the younger wasn't a State Alchemist.  There was some rumor that his older brother (the shorter one, she thought bemusedly) didn't want the younger brother to become one, because he felt he should be the only "dog of the military" in the family.  That was thoughtful, she supposed.  And that made her intrigued.

                Just who was this Edward Elric?

                "A History of Alchemy", revised from two years ago, stated:

                _Edward Elric:  entered and passed State Alchemist exam at age twelve and passed, youngest to ever do so.  Hometown Rizen Pool, orphaned at age ten along with his younger brother Alphonse Elric.  Famous for furthering study on the Red Water and the Philosopher's Stone in particular, having a personal interest to help the public with his discoveries.  Known especially for his involvement in the Riore Conflict, the Miners' Strike, and the Second Eastern War.  Died age seventeen, along with his younger brother Alphonse Elric, in the Second Eastern War._

                And all of the books were like that.  He seemed to be a good man (or boy, especially because he never lived past seventeen years).  The books glossed over his history as if he was unimportant, but she knew better.  There would not be so much talk thirteen years afterwards if he had been another nobody.  As it was, he seemed to be have been young and talented and truly following the motto "Alchemy for the Public", though he did it more to ease his own conscience than to follow orders.  She dug through records of old reports, but to her surprise there had been none in the Records Department.  If he had been so unimportant, they would have been there.  She grew even more suspicious.

                There was an air of mystery that made her excited about it all.  But she was careful not to mention it to the Daisotou.  Everyone got quiet about the Elric brothers around him.  She was smart enough to do the same, though this just made the mystery even more puzzling.  It seemed to be something big, but personal – all of the old-timers in the office like Falman, Havok and Huey, Hawkeye and the Daisotou, all seemed to have some deeper connection with that name.  She didn't know how she knew that, only that when they said the name, it was more reverent, and more sorrowful.

                She found evidence at last in the least unexpected place: her father's old reports.  She had been looking for something else, but a picture had caught her eye – one of the now-familiar face of Edward Elric, eternally young as he stared up at her levelly, giving nor taking any ground – and filed after that was a hastily handwritten report, addressed to the Taisa.  She had stolen it, hoping her father wouldn't notice, and he didn't.  She was momentarily surprised when she realized the person it was addressed to was not Hawkeye the Taisa, but Mustang the Taisa of fifteen years ago.  The writing itself was full of sudden jumps and jolts, giving her reason to suspect it had been written on the train ride back and never typed up, or maybe this had only been a rough draft that her father had kept for sentimental reasons.  Certainly, her father was not involved with this mission, but somehow he had had it in his drawer.

                She was surprised and pleased to see that the report proved the mysterious Edward Elric was certainly more than the textbook definition.  The paper held a keenly sarcastic edge, starkly factual but worded in such a way that there would be no pretense to the reader that he did not like the person it was addressed to.  There were several clever word puns and jokes that she got only from being in the military for three years, and she found herself smiling over it.  At the same time, she wondered if the Daisotou had smiled over it too, perhaps indulgently as she did after she finished, the dogmatically childish words still ringing in her head?  But she could not imagine the Daisotou doing such a thing.

                Even more curious at this child-man who wrote reports with long, complicated words but with a sense of immaturity, of dislike for what he was doing, she made her request to Hawkeye the Taisa, who was her commanding officer.  But before she could say anything, Hawkeye had pinned the question for her: "Hughes, why are you looking up the Elric brothers?"

                There was something strange in Hawkeye's eyes as well when she said that.  And suddenly Alicia was thrown back to the same memory of three years ago, when her father had placed his hand on her shoulder and murmured that Edward Elric had been a true genius and that he didn't want his daughter to suffer that same fate.  When she was fifteen, she didn't know what that look meant, but now she did – it was of respect, and defense for that respect against her, who didn't know anything about the Elric brothers at all.  Her sense of suspicion grew stronger – here was a person before her time that everyone in the Eastern Headquarters knew, but were afraid to speak about.  Everyone respected him, though he was dead.  From the textbook, he had done many good things for the public – but anyone could do that and still they wouldn't be anything but average.  Something that this Edward Elric had done made him famous.  Something about this Edward Elric had made people look twice, and take a good look, because they were seeing something spectacular.

                "I'm interested in seeing who beat me in passing the State Alchemist exam at twelve years, Taisa," she answered truthfully.  Hawkeye didn't look convinced, but after she took her report and gave a good look at her determined face, continued as if nothing had been asked and then sent her away.  That afternoon, she received a new mission, and surprisingly, another Edward Elric report.  Pleased that her request had been accepted, she settled down on the red-eye train ride to her next mission in Euswell Mines with another warily respectful but still sarcastic report.

/ / / / / / /

Author's note:

Heh.  Don't know quite where this one sprung from, but it should be a few chapters long, no epic or anything, just what I think people were thinking about when they met the Elric brothers.  Next chapter should be up in a few days, and it should be about Edward's trip to Euswell Mines.  Note to everyone who will stick around for the next one: everything is past tense, as it's been fifteen years since Fullmetal and his brother died, and it should be in first person point of view, with a short snitch of story in third person at the very beginning to set up the rest of the chapter.  Happy reading.

Andrea Weiling


	2. Heroism

Memories, Ch.2:  Heroism

By Andrea Weiling

                _Euswell_, she decided, _is the typical mining town._  It was the middle of the morning when she arrived, but already she could tell the miners had been working for a while already by the determination in their faces.  Her hand tightened on her suitcase, and in her pocket she gripped the copy of the Fullmetal report that Hawkeye the Taisa had given to her.  She had no idea what kind of reception Fullmetal had left for her to enjoy in this town that he apparently visited often (at least as often as his job allowed) – the report had sounded positive (yeah, positively full of sarcasm), but she had no idea how things might have changed over the years.  Still, the town was pretty, nestled in the foothills, the morning sun brightening the chugging carts of coal that ran up and down the mountain.  A woman swept the front porch of a store, and looked up curiously at her when she walked by.  Inwardly she squirmed a little at the piercing look.

                At a nearby well, she spied two other women, and a child that clung to her mother when she stopped to ask a question.  "Can you tell me where the "Inn called Restaurant" is?"

                They stared blankly at her, and she had a sinking suspicion that perhaps Fullmetal had gotten the name of the inn wrong.  Then suddenly, one of the women burst out laughing.  "Ah, another State Alchemist?  Don't have to hide yourself behind civilian clothes while you're here, your welcome will be warm enough.  We can all see you've got the watch, though it's not showing.  Well, you'll be going to 'The Restaurant' on Fullmetal's suggestion, eh?  Come this way."  Still chuckling a bit, she led Alicia to the wooden building of the store she saw before, where the woman was still sweeping the floor.  As the two of them approached, she gave them the same curious look.

                Alicia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, she was almost bowelled over by some twenty miners, home for lunch.  Choking a little on the dust cloud that came up, she looked up after the stampede had finally passed, and saw the lady on the porch grinning a little at her.

                "Come up here, darling, you'll be the State Alchemist we got mail about?  We're not too educated here, but we knew you were coming."  She held the door open for her.  Still dazed, the teenager stepped inside.

* * *

                What?  _WHAT??_  Lady, ya _gonna_ have to speak louder than that.  Can't you see the room's full right now?  Oh, I see, you're the State Alchemist – I get it, I got the message yesterday, alright?  Now **STOP** waving that watch around like you own the world or something.  Here, siddown.  Something to drink?  A room here isn't going to be cheap – we're only poor miners, and we need whatever extra revenue we can get.  Euswell's a pretty bare place; no one ever comes here to visit unless they're here for business.

                _Eh?_  Well. . .I guess.  Heh, didn't know this was a recommended inn.  My wife's usually the one who manages all that.  The name of it must've stuck in that Fullmetal's head eighteen years ago.  Pretty dynamic fella, he was.  Had style AND flair of his own. _No one_ gets the job done quite as bust-and-bam as he does.  After he died, there's been no one like him in the ranks, at least from what I've heard.  He's still pretty famous in Central, then?

                Why'd ya wanna know?  I mean, can't you find his information in Central?  Ah, I see.  Well, he did break an awful lot of rules, but even though he was a rebel, he followed the motto more stringently than anyone else.  "Alchemy for the Public". . .maybe he only did it because he felt like it, because it was in his nature to do so.  Even so, everyone's grateful he did it.  Such a pity he died so young.

                We can always see the mine later, lady.  To tell you the truth, it's better you see it later, because right now it'll be steaming hot, and even though it's worse lighting at night than in the daytime, it's lots cooler.  Seems you're interested in Fullmetal, so I can talk about him for a bit if you want.

                There's a whole ream of rumors about him, if you get what I mean.  When he was alive, not so many – the military controls those things, you know? – but after he died, many of the litter things he did have come out, and they've been stretched and yarned to the point you don't know the truth anymore.  However, the principle is always the same – he helps the people.  Certainly, the military now has a standard to set for their officers, and it's better now than it was before – we had this bastard Yoki in charge of the mine before Fullmetal threw him out – but now it's all good, and the government's interested in the mines, but they keep their hands off of it and let us do the work as long as we give them all the right figures.  That's good.  We don't like being forced.  We've been here for so long, in charge of ourselves, that we're hard-pressed to give up what little freedom we've experienced for so many generations.

                That Fullmetal, he used to travel around with that armored guy, when you see pictures they're always together.  Later we heard they were brothers, and the armored one was the younger.  Haha, Fullmetal hated being called short, especially compared to his younger brother.  Certainly, I can tell you a whole lot about _that_.

                After he threw Yoki out, the Eastern Headquarters will Fullmetal's commanding officer in charge – what was his name? a Mustang?  Heard he got promoted to Daisotou? – sent this dude out to take care of business.  We were civil with him, mostly out of respect for Fullmetal (and because after him, we realized not all the military sort were bad), but if it'd **BEEN** Fullmetal, we would have welcomed him with open arms.  That's cuz he helped us.  Usually we're not so fond of strangers in this town.  We don't want to end up under a Yoki-character again.  Well, this dude's name was Kavin-something, and he wasn't a State Alchemist, just part of the governmental bureaucracy somewhere.  Well, two months in, Fullmetal pops back in to see how we're coming along, and by this time he's gotten a little famous for being the only dog of the military that really helps the people and doesn't care about personal gain.  But this Kavin's got something against him, probably because a lot of us compared him with Fullmetal.  Well, Fullmetal comes to visit, and Kavin gets all surprised that such a short kid is the famous Fullmetal.  I can tell you, that got a tantrum out of Fullmetal, but afterwards, that "chibi kid" proved better than Kavin in everything else.  He ended up staying two weeks and taking care of all the linguistics, and turned in Kavin's report for him three weeks early.  There are a lot of stories about Fullmetal like that, where he gets the job done quicker than expected.  His way of thinking is just somehow quicker and more practical than anyone else's.  And he wouldn't've been doing it for the Taisa, as that Mustang fella was back then – he had something against his commanding officer.  Yeah, they had a long time rivalry going.

                Heh.  That shouldn't really be a surprise, lady.  It wasn't a regular type of rivalry going.  I don't know all the details meself, but I've heard that even though they were opposites, they had respect for each other.  You could see it when Fullmetal talked about him, kind of a wariness about that man's caliber.  I can tell you Mustang wasn't very happy either when he got out of the war alive, and the younger Fullmetal  and his brother were dead.  As I've said, there's never quite been anyone like Fullmetal ever since the war.

                Yeah, he visited us a fair few times.  And then fifteen years ago, the second Eastern conflict in the south came up, and the State Alchemists were all called out.  So he had to go too.  But before he left, he told us that the army needed recruits, and that drafting wouldn't start happening until the volunteer pool dried up.  He told us that this war might be even longer than the last one, and that maybe every young man in this village would be drafted anyway, but the army still preferred volunteers before the draft.  I remember that scene very well – everyone got silent at that, and my wife asked if it was really that bad, and he answered _Yes, it was._  People were still angry about the first Eastern Conflict that happened when he was a kid – I fought in that one myself, but the draft only included me towards the very end, so I didn't see much action.  And he looked so ashamed when he said it, because he's been helping us since he first appeared eighteen years ago, and to even think of putting once of us in danger was killing himself inside.  My own son Kael ended up going.  He died in that war. . .but I don't blame it on Fullmetal.  It was his own decision, and I'm glad my son got to see something of the world outside this town before he died.

                Still, there are people in this town and all the other mining towns that the news spread to that don't like Fullmetal.  Yes, he helped us, but when the younger generation dies before the older ones, we tend to become bitter.  It's just not right that we have to attend our own children's funerals.  Some people blame it on the military for stirring up trouble in the first place, but taking into account the opinions of the southern easterners, I don't think there was much the military could do about it anyway.  There HAVE been too many conflicts in the last fifty years, and perhaps some of them could have been avoided, but perhaps that would have called for more blood elsewhere.  There's no certainty that any better path could have been taken.  Fullmetal was only doing what he was told to do, and he was sorry for it from the bottom of his heart.  And the draft came later anyway, so all of our sons had to go in the end.

                Now, I'm getting old, but I've seen a lot of people, and still no one's ever matched Fullmetal in spirit or determination.  Didja know that the younger brother of his actually died at age ten, and that the armor he was walking around actually had no body in it?  Fullmetal bound his brother's soul to that armor by Alchemy of some sort.  Yeah, quite a feat even almost twenty years later.  Heard that he had to give up his right arm for that, but I've also heard him say that he would have given up everything he had and all of his limbs if his brother could get his body back.  Must run in his blood to be generous – any other person would have hesitated, but he sticks with his decisions.  Maybe that's what makes others envious of him – he always knows exactly what he's doing, and stands firm on what ground he holds.  He would have made a good miner.  We've' a tradition of standing on this ground for generations and generations as well.  We could have used a strong lad like that, even if he was a bit lacking in the height department.

                Heh.  I remember after he threw out Yoki, he said he finally remembered what it was like to have a permanent home to go back to.  Said that he'd taken for granted all of his life that he had a home, and when he finally lost it, he moved on and forgot about that sort of feeling.  He'd been dispossessed.  After he helped us, he warned us never to forget that this town can only stand if we want to protect it, and that we should never do things half-heartedly.  Just like him, really.  Still a bit of a kid even when he went off to war, though.

                Yeah, yeah, pretty dynamic guy.  Broke all the rules and had fun doing it all the while.  Rebel teenager all the way.  Well, you want to get going to the mine now?  Good, let's go!  Now first here, you see, we bring the carts right up here. . .

/ / / / / / /

Author's note:

Well, this is the second chapter as you can see, and I couldn't find Kael's (the little miner boy) father's name, so I just didn't name him.  Again, another long, tedious and detailed chapter.  Hope I didn't bore you too much.  As for specifics about the wars, I don't plan to do them, really; this is a piece (or several pieces) centered on Edward Elric, not the linguistics and statistics (haha, say those two words together out loud really fast several times) of how he died.  I also won't be doing any first person from an original character – all of the people who talk to Alicia about Edward will be those already introduced in the manga and the anime.  At least, I hope.  Hope you enjoyed.  The next one should be from Maria Ross' point of view.

Andrea Weiling


	3. Only Children

Memories, Ch. 3:  Only Children

By Andrea Weiling

                Exhausted, she stepped off the train.  The copy of Fullmetal's report of his first trip to Euswell was still in her pocket, but in her suitcase was a completely different and much more boring report about HER own trip to Euswell.  She wasn't sure how Fullmetal managed to make his reports fun to read, but somehow he did.  As she passed the gate, her eyebrows went up as she realized there was a woman in uniform there, saluting her.  Medium height and middle-aged, a little plump but still pretty, brown hair almost to her shoulder, blue eyes with a mole close to the left eye.  Alicia didn't quite drop her suitcase, but she did frown a little.  She did NOT need an escort, she was a State Alchemist, there weren't any potential dangers that she knew of in the city at the moment, and it wasn't like she was twelve-year-old Fullmetal when he first started out!

                "Lieutenant Maria Ross, welcome back to Eastern Headquarters."

                She murmured "Good job" in return, and questioned if there was a car ready.  No, the woman answered, there was not one prepared, as it was only a short walk there, it wasn't like it was in Central where everything was sprawled over the largest tract of land for a city that she'd ever seen.  Alicia looked sharply at the other woman at that.  Usually escorts weren't quite this lively.  For a moment, she considered – and then made up her mind.  

                She began the longest roundabout route to Eastern Headquarters that she'd ever done.  "Lieutenant Ross, was it?  Were you in the Second Eastern War?"

                The other woman was a little surprised at the speed in which Alicia warmed up to her, as most people she escorted weren't exactly the best conversationalists, and many were simply rude to her or ignored her.  "Yes", she answered, a little confused.  "I was in. . ."

                Alicia frowned a little.  She did not know which battalion Fullmetal had been assigned to during the war.  "Were you in the same company as the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

                The woman's eyes widened, and Alicia turned completely around in the road and stopped, feeling as if she'd finally hit gold.  "Why – why yes, I knew him, I had to escort him once, must have been seventeen or eighteen years now.  Later I met up with him again in the war, though we had very different jobs.  Our company was devastated after he died; they broke us up, you know, and made all the other companies larger, Fullmetal had done so much work in our company that the other State Alchemists couldn't take over the load of work that he'd been doing.  So, they split us up afterwards.  But that was so long ago – you were probably only five or six when the war started, why ever do you ask?"

                Again, she hesitated, and then popped open her State Alchemist watch.  The train hadn't arrived early, but certainly Hawkeye the Taisa wouldn't mind too much if she gave her report later.  With a quick scan over the street and not recognizing much, she frowned again and asked, "Know any good coffee shops?"

* * *

                I guess it was completely different than what I expected, the Fullmetal Alchemist.  Everything is different when you meet someone especially famous – but he was famous for a reason, and it wasn't just because he was a child.  He really did do extraordinary things for the people, and the way he stuck to his dream to achieve the Philosopher's Stone gives inspiration to the rest of us, even fifteen years after his death.  I wasn't the only one to see his true worth.

                The first time I met him, he was rude and childish, and I wondered how this could be the same person that helped the common people.  Now, I have a gift for judging people – I've had it since I was young, and I'm rather proud of it, until I met him.  I thought I had him down; I'd heard lots of stories about him from credible sources, but when I actually met him, he wasn't anything like I'd imagined.  I thought that he was helping the people strictly because he wanted to become famous (a childish aspiration, and as he looked like a child, I assumed that was his goal), but he wasn't.  There was just something generous in his nature that made him help people.  However, I didn't see the "helping side" of him until later, during the war; I was assigned to escort him from place to place, even though we wouldn't really be doing the fighting, we'd just be the ones yelling for help.  I never doubted his power, or his genius – I only doubted his goal.  And when I saw how arrogant and secular his little self-conceived world was, I couldn't help but scorn him.  Only later did I find out he, again, wasn't doing this for himself, but for his brother.

                There are some fundamentally good people out there, who cannot do wrong, or if they do it, they repay it several times over and never forgive themselves completely for it.  Edward-san had a funny way of showing his appreciation for the rest of the world, but the bold manner and the get-out-of-my-business attitude he took with everyone who hadn't saved him or was his superior, he's only trying to protect others.  After I realized that the search that I was helping him with wasn't for him, but for his brother, I couldn't help but laugh at myself.  How could I have underestimated the human spirit of generosity?  How could I have forgotten what it was to give something and ask for nothing in return, because all that really matters is the glow of goodness that remains in your mind for a long time afterwards?  For Edward-san, there were two separate mindsets: one, where there was only the physical searching for the Stone, that dream in which he constantly looked for, and the other one which encompassed what he felt.  To him, both were important, but he also understood that you could not live in the physical world alone and not feel anything.  That takes the meaning out of everything.

                However, I didn't see that.  All there was for me was the military, the rules, the protocol, my disappointing job that didn't seem to bring anything but constant escorting of important people from here to there.  I hadn't enjoyed myself in a long time.  In watching Edward, though, I realized he was somehow having fun and doing his job all at once.  I couldn't understand how that could be, that a child could understand better than I what living was all about.  How could a conceited child like him, thinking he was at the top of the world, be happier?  It wasn't money; physical worth meant nothing to him, and when he gave that librarian girl that entire sum of money from his accounts, he meant the physical necessities were purely necessities for him.  In his youth, he had transcended what was normal and regular to dedicate his life to the search of some obscure Stone that no one ever found before.  And I realized that what Sergeant Hughes was talking about; there was no one in the world that could do the job but them, the two brothers were the only ones clever and coordinated enough with each other to do the impossible.  Perhaps they were still children; certainly, there were traces of that every time I looked at them, but they were already adult enough to understand what they were undertaking.  And I was shaken by the resolve they took to solve complications that no one had ever thought of before.

                I won't describe it as a some miraculous ray of comprehension – it wasn't, as you probably understand.  It was just an awakening, a sudden curious thought in my head: _do I have that sort of determination?_  I thought the military was enough for me, what I was doing was satisfying me – it was, but only halfway.  I had to start caring about something, that was what I was missing.  But I didn't _choose_ the Elric brothers; something just _told_ me that I should look out for them as long as I could.  As mature as they were, they were still children.  They still needed the help of adults, because they weren't powerful enough to solve everything by themselves.  Simply, I wanted to be there to help, and therefore prove to myself and to them that I could care about something.  I wanted feeling back in my body, to feel something extremely shocking or extremely surprising, something that would make me cry or laugh or despair.  And when it finally did, I stood up and faced it – I saw him standing there, this vortex of power around him, and he was hurting, and I knew it was time for me to help him.  My head and my heart were pounding so hard when I pulled him close and tried to tell him somehow that he didn't have to do everything by himself, that I was there to help him.  I've never been really sure what he thought of that, I've never asked because I didn't really set eyes on him again until the war, and those were hardly circumstances to ask him anything.  And I got what I set out to do – I never forgot ever again that I helped someone just because I wanted to, because I was doing it for their well-being and for the feeding of my own spirit.  Sometimes I laugh to think that maybe this sympathy for the rest of the world has affected promoting to me to anything higher than Lieutenant – I mean, I even got _de_moted when they transported me to Eastern Headquarters – but then I think maybe this is the place destined for me anyway.  

                I guess you could say, then, he has something about him that produces changes in the world around us.  Even from the very beginning, he was different, passing the State Alchemist Exam so young – but even afterwards, his youth let him take care of things a different way, there was still a rebelliousness inside of him that anyone past twenty-five has long lost.  _That_ has made him famous, his disregard for all the limits because he didn't believe in them at all – how could he believe in limits when his dream was to find the Philosopher's Stone?  And he showed it all the time, showed that personal dramatic flair whenever he went out on his missions.  People saw that, and they respected him for being exactly who he wanted to be.  It's been so long since he died, but the people remember him.  One day, he'll become the stuff of legends.  Certainly, he's worth it.

                I'm sorry – here, let me pay for the coffee, I went on such a long ramble for such a simple question!  No, no, I insist, yes I know exactly how much a State Alchemist is paid and that two cups of coffee wouldn't even make the smallest of scratches, but I must _insist_ – oh, fine.  Do you wish to go anywhere else, Alicia-dono?  Let me throw away the cups at least. . .

/ / / / / / /

Author's note:

Hmm.  This one was somehow easier to write, probably because I understand how Maria would feel, without really caring about anything in the world and just doing her job unconsciously and not standing out in anything.  *shrugs*  That's the impression I got from her, and when I finally got to the end of ep.22 (know that I'm writing this before Edward wakes up from the incident at the 5th laboratory).  I think she's a really cool character, even though she probably won't come out again.  Hope you enjoyed.  I'm not sure whose point of view the next chapter will be from, but we'll see.

Andrea Weiling


	4. Brotherhood

Memories, Ch. 4:  Brotherhood

By Andrea Weiling

                It seemed like it was the millionth time she'd stepped off a train, but it was really only the 56th time.  Just like all the other times, she had a mission statement in her suitcase, but she also had a scrap of paper in her pocket – "He was born there", were the only four words written on it.  Her commanding officer had given it to her as an afterthought, and stated firmly that she was NOT giving Alicia this mission because she was curious about Edward Elric, but because she was the only State Alchemist open at the moment.

For a while, she wandered around what passed for a town (basically a grocery store and a tools store), and then started walking.  Halfway, there was a kindly farmer who spotted her lost look (and her uniform), and let her ride on the back of his horse drawn wagon.  She grew rather quiet and relaxed as the man stopped at homes and stores making deliveries.  After a little while, she fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was to the farmer's wrinkled face, smiling apologetically.  "It's almost sunset, miss, and I didn't really know where you were going, so I brought you to Winry's, if you're here for information, she's the one to ask, as she still gets mail from Central these days.  I think she'll also let you stay there for tonight, if she hasn't got other guests, and there's always an inn down the road."  She gave a smile to him in return and got off, her suitcase suddenly heavy in her hand.  She wasn't sure if Winry was the first or last name of the owner of the house, a two-story with a balcony, painted tan or perhaps something lighter.  She turned back to wave at the nice farmer, and then knocked on the door.

                After what seemed like a long transition, it opened.  And out stared the face of Edward Elric.

                "You're. . .!"

                The man started, brown eyes going wide.  "I'm sorry – are you looking for Edward Elric?"  He looked over his shoulder, where a patter of steps announced the arrival of his wife.  "You might want to ask Winry here."

                Heart still beating double-time and mind whirling around questions without answers, she was quickly hustled in, where the blonde woman with blue eyes (strong eyes, Alicia noticed – definitely independent and strong, and probably no nonsense) slammed an iron kettle on the stove and an extra bowl on the table.  "I'm sorry, we were about to eat.  You're welcome to join us."  Alicia's eyes jumped away from the man and back to her, and then gave a nervous glance back to the man, who was now cutting carrots and looking frightened at the continued stare Alicia was giving him.  Winry laughed, and added, "No, he's not Edward Elric."  Alicia's head spun up to look at her, and caught a flash of. . .something. . .before Winry was smiling again.  "Notice his eyes, Miss Hughes?  They're brown.  Edward had gold."

                Dinner was a silent affair.  Alicia did not stare at the man any longer, though her mind still whirled.  After dinner, she stared pointedly at her empty plate until her mind came up with a suggestion to put it in the sink.  But she was saved from getting up as the man took it, with a small smile that was definitely not Edward Elric's.  She'd imagined Edward Elric's to be more feral, more rebellious, with a sarcastic edge.  Winry watched from across the table, her smile sad.

* * *

                I apologize.  You're not the first one to point at my husband, or the first one to salute to him.  I don't think he was ready for all the mistaking he'd get when he married me.  _So_ many people think he's Edward, even after all these years; the military kept it quiet that he died, but the news seeped out into the public after a while.  There've been so many different accounts of how he died that I've given up trying to keep them all straight in my head.  I'm sure Edward would have had a grand time imagining the many deaths he died by during the war.  Still, though, a lot of people think he's still alive, in hiding somewhere, keeping it down low.  The war left everyone desperate for some sort of savior, some sort of hero – but Edward's time was already up.

                I suppose the reason he looks like Edward is one of the reasons I married him.  But even more than that, he's a good man, and far more agreeable than Edward ever was, and I knew he'd take care of me.  Edward, from the moment he heard that Roy Mustang talking about him becoming a State Alchemist, he had his heart set on it.  Not only does it let him get out of these backwater boonies, he could also search for the Philosopher's Stone.  This little place didn't suit him even from the beginning; he needed more excitement than this.  Perhaps Alphonse could have stayed if the bond between the brothers hadn't been as strong as it had been. . .but that's all wishful thinking now.  I still don't know what to make of their passing – sometimes I feel as if I could forget them for leaving me here in Rizen Pool, and other times I can't do anything but think about how we used to be, playing together all the time.  One way or the other, all of us in this community haven't ever forgotten how such a famous person came from here.

                Tea?  Here's a cup.

                 I think Edward was just destined for larger things.  It was only Alphonse's misfortune that he followed Edward wherever he went, which included the war.  But maybe I could be wrong; perhaps Alphonse would have been too antsy to stay in Rizen Pool either.  And there was no other way he could regain his body without his brother's help – Alphonse was smart by himself, but it would have been faster and more effective if he went with Edward, which he did.  I think it was something unsaid between the two of them that they would always stick with each other.  They were each other's favorite playmates when they were young, so I guess it wasn't surprising that Alphonse followed Edward into the army, even if he was never really enlisted.  And of course, Roy Mustang turned a blind eye to Edward's constant escort.

                Auntie Pinako and I, we both knew that Edward had made up his mind.  Still, I didn't think he'd change that much.  There was an incident where he solved the case of this serial killer who'd been going around killing girls; well, that man had kidnapped me, and Edward had come after me alone.  It might sound rather fairy-tale like, where a handsome knight comes to rescue a damsel in distress – but it wasn't like that at all.  Ed was completely terrified.  He'd never been on a mission, and this one wasn't even assigned to him.  He'd never had to fight for his life before – alchemy had always been a game to him and Alphonse.  And that was when I realized he'd changed.

                He saw me off at the train station, telling me that he could never come back and live at Rizen Pool, but a little part of me told me that already.  I knew that I could never reach him again.  That life-threatening situation made him see that he might have just doomed himself by becoming a State Alchemist, because he would probably be fighting for his life many times in the future.  Still, I wrote them as much as I could, and worried about them even though that wouldn't help them at all.  Edward, and Alphonse would come to experience the same danger by following his brother, were simply different now.  Un-normal.  Once in a while there'd be an incredibly predatory look in his eyes – not determination, but something instinctual.  In his searching for the Philosopher's Stone, he had put a wall between him and me, because he was doing something that I could never help him with, as much as I wanted to.  He was going somewhere I couldn't follow.

                All I could do was patch him up when he came to me, or when he called for repairs because he couldn't move from where he was.  He was getting into trouble all the time because of his missions, though that wasn't his fault.  I understood that there was no other way to give Alphonse back his body but to find the Philosopher's Stone, and to take the opportunity to become a State Alchemist.  That doesn't make it any more comforting that I ended up not being able to talk to them because they were simply too different, or that I couldn't do anything but stand aside and let them do what they wanted, or that they died far away from here.  I guess it was inevitable – but that doesn't make me any less remorseful.

                In the end, it was all business between us.  And once in a while, we'd mention something we used to do when we were kids, and we'd get all nostalgic together, but we all knew Edward was no child, and that he couldn't spend the rest of his days reminiscing when he had his purpose to fulfill.  I just wasn't part of the picture anymore – I guess it hurt that I pushed out so fast and suddenly, and it didn't help that I was rather hurt in the process.  In hindsight, it was inevitable.  But Edward's always been so special among regular, boring people like me that you never quite forget him after you've met him.  I guess that's why my husband is my husband today.

                More tea?  I may only be a rural automail mechanic, but I CAN do some house chores.

                I guess I wasn't surprised when the two of them died.  Edward's search for the Philosopher's Stone had taken him to the army, and then to all that business with Scar and the Homunculus, then the Miner's Strike, and then off to war.  Heh, I guess it was kind of sweet for Alphonse to follow him the entire time, but I think Alphonse wanted to be there when his brother found the Stone for him.  But maybe it was also desperation, because they were the last ones in their family, and Alphonse wanted something familiar, even if they were constantly going to unfamiliar places.  The bond between them was strong, even when Alphonse doubted his brother's intentions.  It was strange; during that time, Alphonse automatically assumed he was worse than anyone else because he had no body – I thought that was very true, even though I didn't want to admit it to him or to myself or to Edward, who probably would have had a fit and told me to never come back.  It's not that way, though, because when you look at it, a human is only worth what he does, and what makes him do things?  Emotions, right?  And Alphonse never lost feeling emotions even when he was stuck in that suit of armor.  All the way to the end, he never stopped feeling – so, to me, he was always human.

                So why are you here?  I mean, people have come here to find out what kind of circumstances Ed grew up in, but you don't seem that way. . .I see.  That's sad, because Edward probably would have been glad to hear that his father's been confirmed dead.  Heh, he'd want to dance on that man's grave, he never liked Hoenhime for leaving the family.  Yes, of course we'll pass the news on. . .

/ / / / / / /

Author's note:

Hmm.  Another long and meticulous chapter finished.  Just to clarify, Alicia's mission was to inform whoever was back at Rizen Pool that the army had confirmed Hoenhime, Edward's dad's, death.  I understand that someone lesser probably would have been put in charge of this, as it's not a hard mission at all, but I needed to get Alicia to Rizen Pool somehow.  Happy reading – and just a note, the next chapter isn't at all like this, it'll be third person the entire time, and it won't be about Alicia.  I just thought I (and perhaps the readers) needed a bit of a break from all this first person-ness.

Andrea Weiling


	5. The Train

Memories, Ch. 5:  The Train

By Andrea Weiling

                _And tell me, where does the train lead now?_

                The memories came upon him suddenly, rushing into his vision abruptly, cutting him off from the rest of the world.  And an ache began to pound in his chest, taking up the spot where a human heart was supposed to beat, full of useless regret, full of despair.  Nostalgia came up and muffled his senses as he watched the train pull in; but as he watched, his view of the train shifted to another one of almost twenty years ago, in which he had boarded just as silently and efficiently, headed for a little town in the country called Rizen Pool.

                Fairy tales had already ended for him.  _Once upon a time_ was no more, they had ceased as if fifteen years ago.  And just as suddenly as the first memory, another came upon him, blocking the chatter of the train station as he stared down at his folded hands, devoid of their usual gloves, clasping the handle of his suitcase.  A red-clad figure stepping off of the train, bright hair shining in the sun, recovered from the near-death pallor he had first saw him in.  Angry, determined words shouted at his back.  He reminisced sadly, something very unlike his usual practical self: _Once upon a time_, this train would have led him to that same boy that slowly grew into the man that finally left his side during the Second Eastern War.

                This train had taken Fullmetal to so many other places.  He, too, had once ridden the train under the orders of someone else, had gone into far corners of the country to solve problems that were not his own, but he could not recall if any of them had been enjoyable as Fullmetal's missions had been for him.  Similarly, this train was the one that had brought Fullmetal away from him, slowly giving him strength and experience to build the persona his adulthood would initialize.  And finally, it had brought them to the last place they'd ever been to together – a battlefield.  There was a strange romance in that, he decided, that the lover – his lover, the lover of a man said to be unreadable – could not be saved by his own hands.  In the end, he had failed himself.

                Had Fullmetal sat here, and stared out of the window like he was now, watching the people pass before him but never quite seeing them?  Roy Mustang had gone on similar missions when he was younger, but all of the names and the faces were only facts to him, never holding any emotional attachment to them.  Perhaps he had asked his brother the time, or played at cards, or eaten a meal.  And then there came the strongest memory of all so far: in his office, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye over another snippy, sarcastic report, slouched on the couch, glaring at him, trying to stare him down.  Had that been the first time he had seen Fullmetal as he had grown up to be, his height and his build starting to catch up with the complexity and maturity of the mind that controlled it?  It seemed all that occupied his mind these days were reports, events, uprisings; the embrace of another, a memory fifteen years old, was already forgotten and forgiven.  How had time kept all memories intact and yet passed so fast?

                White paper, and the shaking hand that held it –  had that hand really belonged to him?  Was it one of the same pair of hands that had once fought against Fullmetal?  _Were those memories even his at all?_  These were the same ones that received the news, the unmistakable print of black ink that inspired nothing but utter despair for two weeks, though he was still operating on automatic outwardly.  It wasn't that he didn't love Fullmetal enough that that paper was ever smudged with tears – his heart had been too hardened with loss over the years to care let those emotions show.  Still, he went along and did his job, became the Daisotou, rediscovered what made him happy and found new outlets for his emotions – and all those regretful promises that he made to himself and to his dead lover in the space of a dark moment before he tried to sleep in the hour allotted, those demands he tried to force on himself after the war ended and he spent a week at home, drinking up the expensive wine he'd previously bought for anyone but himself. . .he had been so dead in spirit but so high on emotion at the time that he barely knew what he'd been saying.  All of those bets he made with himself gradually faded as he learned to step forward with emotion and feeling again.  The only one that he'd kept was the one that he'd never marry.  It was the only one he could not find anyone to break it for.

                And now he was traveling, watching the gleaming city break into the slow rolling hills.  And he knew that Fullmetal had seen the same scene many times over, perhaps he had even met some of the people that were reaping the crops now, or that woman sweeping the porch, or the owner of that automobile that stopped by the edge of the road while the train passed.  Stonily he stared ahead, and just like all the years before, no tears sprang to his eyes.  Only a slight tightness around his mouth betrayed his uneasiness.

/ / / / / / / /

Author's note:

I apologize.  This chapter was long and lengthy and way too detailed.  And I swore before I wouldn't regale about the war, but I ended up doing some war-reminiscing in this chapter.  Where he's going will be explained in the next chapter.  As for those sticking with me so far, thanks, and I'm sorry this chapter was so tedious.  I got inspiration from Jay Chou's "Where does this train go?" even though I don't speak word of Taiwanese.  Thanks for reading, folks.

Andrea Weiling


	6. Enemy Eyes

Ch.6:  Enemy Eyes

                When she left Rizen Pool the next afternoon, her head swimming with revelation, she boarded the train as usual, her hands gripping her suitcase harder than usual.  The Elrics – loved, respected, feared.  She could only wonder what kind of person would hate them.  Vaguely she mused that that was probably the way to go.

                She barely knew that she had asked to sit down next to some gentleman, stumbling down.  Only when there came a soft chuckle accompanying the affirmation did she look up, and then at the sight of the Fuhrer's face, she stumbled back up and saluted clumsily, stammering apologies.  The Fuhrer – and suddenly she wondered what kind of connection the Elrics had with their commanding officer? – patted the seat beside him lightly.  She sat down again, stiffer than last time, but twenty minutes into the train ride back to Central, she was snoozing, blue cap pulled low over her eyes to shut out the afternoon sun.  The Fuhrer looked out the window over the sunlit fields, now ripe for harvest, and remembered it was around this time that Fullmetal had died, though far from any peaceful fields.

                Alicia wasn't surprised when they stopped for the night in a hotel that the Fuhrer had already order two single rooms for.  She took the order to turn in for the night with gratitude, saw the comfy room that had been assigned to her and mentally noted to make the best of it and forget to ask the Fuhrer the price of it in the morning.  She didn't think she'd have the salary.

                The next day, they jumped on a late morning train (apparently the Fuhrer was a late riser), and arrived in Central in the night after an entire day of sitting.  By now, Alicia's butt was sore, but the Fuhrer seemed remarkably unperturbed, preferring to stare out of the window the entire time, as if he was not really in the train at all.  Alicia had a feeling that was probably the case – she even had a sneaking suspicion what the Fuhrer was thinking about given the date, but she wasn't going to jump to conclusions yet.  She had her father's intuition, but this was still the Fuhrer, and he was still _way_ above her.  Her mind echoed a few strains of Fullmetal's intricately worded reports, full of wariness, and she heeded them.

                As she descended the train, a grip at her wrist stopped her.  The Fuhrer was there, looking down at her, but his eyes still showed the mist of memories that he had been sifting through earlier.  "We're leaving tomorrow at eight o'clock.  Don't be late."  And then he brushed past her, seemingly listless but urgent all at once, frentic for something he wasn't quite sure of.  She frowned a little, watching his form stride through the doors, before lugging her suitcase all the way back to her house.

                Her mother and father were happy to see him, but when she told her father that the Fuhrer was back, his smiled drooped at the corners, and he donned his jacket quickly to rush to headquarters.  Before he did, he did something curious; he stopped abruptly right in front of the mantelpiece, and woodenly turned to look at the pictures there.  Alicia wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew he was looking at the brothers – knew he was imprinting their images in his mind.

                The next day, the Fuhrer was there along with her father.  With a nod, he said goodbye to the Fuhrer, and then proceeded to give her the entire hug-and-kiss routine that she outgrew when she was five.  The Fuhrer sat stiffly at attention, staring straight ahead at the wooden back of the seat in front of him, but when the train started to move, he relaxed, and even smiled a little when her father waved at them from the platform.  As he settled down to stare out of the window again, the smile lingered in his eyes, and she got the feeling he had come to terms with something during the night.

                They disembarked in a small city, and walked a bit past known civilization.  All around them, the browning sun had bleached the sandrock formations dry and crumbly, small patches of sand swirling in lazy circles where they stepped.  The path was narrow but well-used.  Finally they turned a corner, and she saw where they'd been headed.

                A veritable city of identical tan tents, clustered around the base of the sandstone cliff, with people bustling in and out.  From her vantage point, she could tell they weren't speaking Common; it was Isbarian.  Suddenly she gave a little gasp, and looked to the Fuhrer, blushing a little when she realized he had been judging her reaction.

                "You've asked everyone except for someone who hates Fullmetal.  There is one of those people here."  He started walking down, and Alicia hurried to follow him.  "He'll tell you whatever you want to know about Fullmetal."

                At the very edge of the camp, he stopped, but did not turn.  "And after this, you will give me your reason for doing this when Fullmetal is many years dead."

* * *

                My right arm, the one that my brother attached to me, this one that you see is missing now – I used it for a lot of things when I still had it, things that all led to my invariable goal of one day killing all the State Alchemists.  Hate drove me, and revenge – but also compassion.  I believed that even though I had forsaken Ishbara, I should still spread His word and do His work.  Peaceful civilians, living in their secular communities, didn't need the army to look after their every step, they could handle their own affairs.  I'd like to think if I'd been calm enough to think out the situation I was in (a fugitive on the run after committing murder), I'd have enough sense to cut off that arm of mine earlier. . .but that is over with.  Maybe it'd been with me for so long that it'd already had such a convoluted hold on my beliefs that I couldn't think straight, and that's why I went on for so long doing what I did.  There was just nothing else for me at the time.  I was desperate for a goal.

                After a person loses their home, they become dispossessed.  Now, in this camp of fellow Isbarians, I can feel a ghost of how our people used to be.  This place is thriving, especially after the Fuhrer banned all interference – that _is_ him standing outside, isn't it? – and I am both grateful and relieved that I have been allowed to stay here, even if my movements are strictly monitored.  In the process of murdering State Alchemists, I also forsook my freedom to move around.  I was constantly in hiding, stealing food and livelihood necessities because no one in their right mind would offer a criminal a job.  And frankly, I wasn't sure if I wanted a job in this place, the West, where Isbarians traditionally hate.  I didn't know what I would do with sympathy from a Western civilian.  

I knew that the State Alchemists were, in fact, very much like me, constantly on the move from – but they all had anchors, they all had someplace to call home.  That just made me want to kill them even more, as if killing them would silence the doubts in my mind.

                Fullmetal was the closest thing to a truly dispossessed State Alchemist.  Yes, he did have a home, that was clear for all to see: the space he occupied beside his brother.  When I look back on the past, I realize I gave in too easy to the workings of that arm.  My brother wanted revenge; I did too.  But not to that extent.   I could have censored it to just fighters during the Ishbar conflict.  I could even have censored it to just State Alchemists, and not to their families.  At the time, I was angry though I wasn't going mad; I felt calm and sane the entire four years I went on my rampage.  I felt that I was doing something right, even though what remained of my asceticism constantly screamed for me to stop.  It could be said that meeting Fullmetal, even that early in the stages of my revenge, harbored my eventual reawakening and my capture.  Upon meeting him, learning of his circumstances, I gradually realized I feared him above all the others.  He was a person just like me, a home gone, dependent on no one but himself and his brother, letting the violence in his life block out the emptiness of his heart.  Somehow, though, the Fates had twisted it so that we were enemies.

                I feared what I could see was myself in his eyes.  He had a driven-ness that preceded all else, even his deepest loyalty to his brother; I daresay sometimes the search for the Philosopher's Stone was not as much for his brother as for himself.  I remember giving the strangest jolt when he stopped me on the Central Library steps the first time we met – there was a sense of meeting an _equal_ in strength of character.  Maturity-wise, he still had a long way to go before he became as bitter as I was about life, but there was some indomitable spirit inside of him that I found myself shrinking from.  However, I was curious to see how a boy of his age would be thrown into the military; upon learning his circumstances, especially that of his younger brother, I understood.  In my own past, the bond between my older brother and I broke as he gradually passed into the foreign land of alchemy.  I wanted to see what Fullmetal would do to keep that bond intact; I wanted to see what bound the brothers together.  If I knew what that bond was, I felt I could start to forgive myself for my own mistakes in the past.

                 People in the West tend to pity Isbarians because we don't have technology, we don't have the luxuries they take for granted.  The only reason for this is because we choose to be so.  If we are not hindered by technology, we can more clearly see and experience what makes us human.  Material things should be gained for necessity and through work, not for the sake of having it, or for convenience.  We believe experiences of life should all include work of some sort, some straining of mind or muscle.  We saw Alchemy as technology – and it is furthering human civilization, and not always for good, especially when you take into account how the State Alchemists are used in wars.  Privately, alchemy is good, because it only benefits who the alchemist wants it to benefit – but State Alchemists are sent out so other people can use the benefit of their technology.  That was the rationalization I used for those four years I had my arm.  Fullmetal did not see this larger picture, but thought only I had this belief; as it is, all Isbarians are raised to believe this.  There was one instance where he was ready to lay down his life to be killed by me if it would save his brother.  It was one of the few instances that I was not able to see him as a State Alchemist, but as a person, like one of the family members that insisted on being killed along with their loved ones.

                Fullmetal became a completely different level of his own after I found out more about his situation.  In a strange sense, he had been exploiting the military just as they had been exploiting his abilities.  Selfish in his _reason_ for becoming a State Alchemist, that _did not_ change even after he started going around the country helping people.  He did, however, like to help people, just as long as they didn't get in the way of his larger picture of finding the Philosopher's Stone.  I was one; his mercy and his sympathy towards Isbarians allowed him enough rationalization to cut off my _arm_ instead of cutting off my _head_.  In his mind, there'd only been wrong or right when it came to the Philosopher's Stone.

                 That was the main point of contention between us.  But mutually, we respected each other.  And when he finally cut off my arm, I realized I'd been waiting for it to happen for the last four years.  After that, there's not much else to say – just a war happened, and he didn't come out of it.  In a strange way, he remains in my head; just a nagging feeling I get when I hear someone say something about my arm, or mention alchemy in passing.  It's an oversimplification to say that he was an enemy that I respected – there are more layers of connection between two people than can be summed in a thousand sentences – and I still respect him for it.  Where he has gone, there is a tangibility of living that remains.


End file.
